This weeks 60 minute challange
Okay I joined 60_minute_fics. Go have a look, it's great fun!
This week I went for Trigger 4 - Fanfiction in a bar setting One hour on that trigger, no longer, so don't expect this to be a work of any sort of genuis!
Title: Bringing him back
For: 60_minute_fics
Fandom: Final Fantasy X, pre game
Pairing: Auron / Jecht
Rating: meh, should be okay
Genre: whiney angst
Spoilers and/or Warnings: This may not make much sense, I am very tired right now!
Maybe small spoilers, but you'll have to look hard to spot them.
Summary: Everything went wrong, Auron reflects and tries to bring back 'something' with alcohol. (Yeeessss! 6 minutes left! woo woo!)
What was this stuff? He wasn’t sure, and by the fifth he just didn’t care.
Zanarkand, that’s what Jecht had called this place, but it was far from the beauty of Spira, far from everything he knew. To Auron it felt like hell.
Well, maybe not hell, but something rank and gritty, a bit like the liquid he was knocking back.
But he had to do this; he had to get this out of his system before meeting Tidus.
Jecht had been dead drunk the first time Auron had met him and it was easy to see why. Zanarkand was such a dump and people kept staring.
Auron shifted uncomfortably and tugged his short collar up around his chin. It didn’t do much to veil the scar, but it gave him a twinge of comfort; he’d have to find a new way of hiding it sooner or later. He wondered if Jecht had been stared at. Well of course he would have… but not for a disfiguring scar. Back in Spira Auron had always thought that Jecht was simply boasting about his Blitzball skills, but when he had actually arrived in Zanarkand he had seen that it had not just been Jecht lubricating his ego. His face was everywhere; every television set, every news sheet hand out he’d been pestered into taking. “Jecht the Great Presumed dead.” They’d screamed. It was a bitter irony that Auron would rather him have been dead than… well… you know.
He pushed the glass towards the barkeeper and gestured for it to be filled with a nod.
If Jecht had been dead things would be simpler, much simpler. He wouldn’t be dreading seeing him again, he wouldn’t have this damned ringing in the back of his head that was starting to sound suspiciously like the older Guardian, telling him that he `drank like a girl` in the same ribbing tones. He took the next drink down in one and rested his head in his hands.
“Girl troubles?” The barkeep smiled.
Auron raised an eyebrow. So I’ve been reduced to the level of a discarded lover; Wonderful.
“I was thinking.” He said carefully, hoping to end any further discussion. When the barkeeper eyed him with a blank expression he sighed. “About Blitzball.” He lied.
“Terrible business that, the Abes haven’t won a single game since Jecht went missing.”
“He will be greatly missed.” a drunk called from one corner. Glasses rose solemnly and the toast was echoed throughout the bar.
“To Jecht.”
Even though Auron had been toasting Jecht all night, each drink a silent salute, he raised his glass and shared a drink with people who didn’t matter.
They drank to Jecht as a sportsman, a great athlete; they drank to nothing.
Auron drank to a companion, to a warrior, to a saviour and to a friend who gave others life through his sacrifice.
A gift, in a moment of devastation, he had thrown back and wasted. That thought burnt too much and he drowned it with more liquid fire.
Stop drinking, focus; you need to find Tidus…
That was the promise, Jecht’s son was out there somewhere, in one of the concrete blocks that passed for living quarters; stricken with grief; no doubt crying in his heartbroken mothers arms. Auron didn’t think he could deal with that right now.
He felt alone, more alone that he’d ever felt in Spira, where everything was black and white. Fight Sin, beat Sin, save everyone. Where the shades mixed, the grey areas, those had been what had screwed them over. Everything was supposed to be like crystal…
In a way it had been, when he fell he’d shattered into a million tiny fragments of himself; he wasn’t sure if he’d managed to bring every splinter with him.
The inside of his mouth tasted the way Jecht used to smell, it offered some small comfort; something familiar. He decided this was why he was drinking; it was a suitable excuse. But it didn’t chase away the guilt; no amount of alcohol would ever be able to push that away.
But maybe…
Maybe he could fill part of that space Jecht had left in someone, someone who did matter. Maybe Tidus could help him find redemption. The cry-baby, who so wanted Jecht to give up the drink, who would have done anything to have a sober father for once.
Auron stared at his glass and frowned.
What in Yevon’s name am I thinking drinking like this?
With an angry clatter he pushed the barstool away and headed for the exit
This week I went for Trigger 4 - Fanfiction in a bar setting One hour on that trigger, no longer, so don't expect this to be a work of any sort of genuis!
Title: Bringing him back
For: 60_minute_fics
Fandom: Final Fantasy X, pre game
Pairing: Auron / Jecht
Rating: meh, should be okay
Genre: whiney angst
Spoilers and/or Warnings: This may not make much sense, I am very tired right now!
Maybe small spoilers, but you'll have to look hard to spot them.
Summary: Everything went wrong, Auron reflects and tries to bring back 'something' with alcohol. (Yeeessss! 6 minutes left! woo woo!)
What was this stuff? He wasn’t sure, and by the fifth he just didn’t care.
Zanarkand, that’s what Jecht had called this place, but it was far from the beauty of Spira, far from everything he knew. To Auron it felt like hell.
Well, maybe not hell, but something rank and gritty, a bit like the liquid he was knocking back.
But he had to do this; he had to get this out of his system before meeting Tidus.
Jecht had been dead drunk the first time Auron had met him and it was easy to see why. Zanarkand was such a dump and people kept staring.
Auron shifted uncomfortably and tugged his short collar up around his chin. It didn’t do much to veil the scar, but it gave him a twinge of comfort; he’d have to find a new way of hiding it sooner or later. He wondered if Jecht had been stared at. Well of course he would have… but not for a disfiguring scar. Back in Spira Auron had always thought that Jecht was simply boasting about his Blitzball skills, but when he had actually arrived in Zanarkand he had seen that it had not just been Jecht lubricating his ego. His face was everywhere; every television set, every news sheet hand out he’d been pestered into taking. “Jecht the Great Presumed dead.” They’d screamed. It was a bitter irony that Auron would rather him have been dead than… well… you know.
He pushed the glass towards the barkeeper and gestured for it to be filled with a nod.
If Jecht had been dead things would be simpler, much simpler. He wouldn’t be dreading seeing him again, he wouldn’t have this damned ringing in the back of his head that was starting to sound suspiciously like the older Guardian, telling him that he `drank like a girl` in the same ribbing tones. He took the next drink down in one and rested his head in his hands.
“Girl troubles?” The barkeep smiled.
Auron raised an eyebrow. So I’ve been reduced to the level of a discarded lover; Wonderful.
“I was thinking.” He said carefully, hoping to end any further discussion. When the barkeeper eyed him with a blank expression he sighed. “About Blitzball.” He lied.
“Terrible business that, the Abes haven’t won a single game since Jecht went missing.”
“He will be greatly missed.” a drunk called from one corner. Glasses rose solemnly and the toast was echoed throughout the bar.
“To Jecht.”
Even though Auron had been toasting Jecht all night, each drink a silent salute, he raised his glass and shared a drink with people who didn’t matter.
They drank to Jecht as a sportsman, a great athlete; they drank to nothing.
Auron drank to a companion, to a warrior, to a saviour and to a friend who gave others life through his sacrifice.
A gift, in a moment of devastation, he had thrown back and wasted. That thought burnt too much and he drowned it with more liquid fire.
Stop drinking, focus; you need to find Tidus…
That was the promise, Jecht’s son was out there somewhere, in one of the concrete blocks that passed for living quarters; stricken with grief; no doubt crying in his heartbroken mothers arms. Auron didn’t think he could deal with that right now.
He felt alone, more alone that he’d ever felt in Spira, where everything was black and white. Fight Sin, beat Sin, save everyone. Where the shades mixed, the grey areas, those had been what had screwed them over. Everything was supposed to be like crystal…
In a way it had been, when he fell he’d shattered into a million tiny fragments of himself; he wasn’t sure if he’d managed to bring every splinter with him.
The inside of his mouth tasted the way Jecht used to smell, it offered some small comfort; something familiar. He decided this was why he was drinking; it was a suitable excuse. But it didn’t chase away the guilt; no amount of alcohol would ever be able to push that away.
But maybe…
Maybe he could fill part of that space Jecht had left in someone, someone who did matter. Maybe Tidus could help him find redemption. The cry-baby, who so wanted Jecht to give up the drink, who would have done anything to have a sober father for once.
Auron stared at his glass and frowned.
What in Yevon’s name am I thinking drinking like this?
With an angry clatter he pushed the barstool away and headed for the exit